


Leave a Mark that Will Forever Remain

by rookandpawn



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rookandpawn/pseuds/rookandpawn
Summary: He gets a look in his eyes sometimes.She knows what that look means.He needs her. Needs her in a way that they almost never indulge in.
Relationships: Scott Moir & Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 17
Kudos: 134





	Leave a Mark that Will Forever Remain

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is really just smut. Enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to onleebecause3 who is both an amazing writer and friend. And the ever amazing walkninrobe who I miss when she's gone off saving the world, even though we just talked on the phone for 2 hours.

He gets a look in his eyes sometimes.

She knows what that look means.

It thrills her.

He needs her. Needs her in a way that they almost never indulge in. She can count the number of times on two hands. Almost all of them have been initiated by her.

She’s only seen this look from him twice before. Both times are burned in her memory because what followed could never be forgotten.

It’s hard to concentrate when they both know what’s to come. There’s no question it will, they’ve never refused each other this comfort, not since the first time she asked him. No matter what was happening in their lives. No matter who was happening in their lives.

They don’t abuse the privilege either. When they say they’re platonic, they mean it. They aren’t a good match romantically, they don’t see each other that way, it wouldn’t be good for their partnership. All of these things are true.

They’re also not lying when they say it’s complicated. This is what complicates it. When this is the only comfort they need or will accept.

His hand feels warmer on her back as he leads her around the rink. She trips when he grips the back of her neck in a way that feels forbidden and so very welcome.

She’s a mess by the time they leave the arena. His hand shakes slightly as it grips her knee on the way to the hotel. One hand on the steering wheel, one hand on her knee. Both eyes on the road. They don’t talk about it. Whatever is causing him pain will remain a mystery. Most likely she will find out tomorrow, but one time she never did.

Whatever it is, physical, emotional, if the way his fingers dig in to the point that they bruise, that his hand is already halfway up her thigh, is any indication it’s big and it’s killing him.

She’s the only one who can help him when he’s like this. The only one who can ease the pain. He’s the only one who can do the same for her. She can’t decide if she loves it or hates it. But she does know that she’s called on his services many, many more times than he has on hers.

He’s barely stopped the car, when he reaches over and undoes her seatbelt, and hauls her into his lap. Anyone can see them, in this parking lot of a motel that’s just this side of seedy. She doesn’t care, never does when they’re like this.

His thumb finds the column of her throat, traces from there to the hollow of her clavicle. They both watch, as his thumb swipes from side to side, progressively dipping lower until he stops tracing her skin.

When she looks up, his eyes are waiting for her. The pain is there, but they smoulder with desire, with that look, that he saves only for her. That look that she sees sometimes when she closes her eyes. When she gives herself permission to remember.

She nods and his lips are on hers. He doesn’t start slowly. Rough and demanding right from the moment his meet hers. He kisses with his whole body. She’d forgotten that. Hands up her back. Into her hair, tugging the bun free from the elastic, winding and tugging. His hips find a different rhythm than his hands in her hair, his tongue in his mouth.

She’s breathless and aching when he stops.

He kisses her gently, chastely. Once, twice, three times before he says, “We should..”

She follows the crook of his neck towards the motel door.

“Right…”

She doesn’t know how to get off his lap gracefully, so she just falls to the side and slides around until she’s upright. He’s howling with laughter by the time she finishes. She’s giggling from the sheer absurdity of the situation, but it does nothing to break the tension between them.

This is her favourite part. That somehow, they are still themselves even during this event that is so very outside the ordinary.

They don’t touch as he pays for the room in cash. He always seems to have the cash to do so, even when it’s her idea, even though she swears she’s never seen him use cash to pay for anything else. She likes to imagine that he keeps the money there, just in case. That it must sit in his wallet untouched, sometimes for years, but with the promise of someday.

The man at the desk smirks at her and she flips him off. Not that this isn’t exactly what it looks like, but he shouldn’t assume. Scott has insisted on a hotel room, every time since the first time. Ever since that night in her childhood bedroom, that almost led to their destruction.

Motels are neutral territory. Safe. Childhood bedrooms are not.

Their room is on the second floor of a two story hotel. She hopes it’s relatively clean, but doubts she’ll notice. Not with the way his hand feels on her back, the way it’s creeping lower with every step they take up the stairs.

There’s no time to notice the state of the room because before the door closes behind them, he’s shoved aside her hair and his lips are on the back of her neck. It’s a weak spot for both of them. There’s nothing she likes more than the feel of him on her neck and there’s no place he’d rather be.

She moans and hums for him. He loves the noises she makes and she’s never felt like she has to hold back around him, knows that not only would he never judge her for it, he gets off on it. Her knees are jelly by the time he finally ends the assault on her neck. She’s itching to touch him, but she knows he needs to be in control. That forbidding herself somehow makes it better, but the waiting is torture.

Sweet, delicious torture.

“Hands at your sides.” His voice is low and gravelly. She only ever gets to hear that voice under these circumstances, and she wonders if he only uses it during sex or if he only uses it with her. The latter answer might be too much to bare. “I’m going to undress you now.”

“Fuck, yes please,” she answers and he rewards her with a full body laugh, gives her a sweet kiss on the lips and squeezes her shoulder.

She loves that he finds her funny. A not so secret thrill runs through her every time she can make him laugh like that, but she also knows what he needs, and she's here to give him all of it.

She takes his hands off her shoulders and places them on the top button of her cardigan.

He raises an eyebrow, but then sets to work, popping the buttons one at a time. His lips find the skin he reveals and he reveres it before setting to work on the next button. One by one, until he’s on his knees in front of her. Tugging at her piercing with his teeth.

An electricity sings through her body and ends just below where his mouth is. She can’t help the groan that echoes through the room or the way she pulls at his hair.

He drags his tongue up her body and to her mouth where he whispers, “I thought I told you to keep your hands at your sides.”

There’s a current to his voice, a warning and that sends a shock straight to her core.

“Are you going to behave?”

“Depends if you want me to or not.” She leans forward and captures his bottom lip between her teeth.

He growls.

Those goddamn growls of his haunt her dreams, send her mind places it shouldn’t, can’t go.

“Take off all your clothes,” he says after freeing his lip. His eyes don’t leave her, as he makes his way to the chair sitting off in the corner. He lounges in the chair and nods at her to start. That man can lounge like no other. So confident in himself, so sexy without knowing he is. Normally, she doesn’t let herself notice, but this is one of those rare times when she can indulge.

“I’m waiting.” He raises an eyebrow.

He’s already undone her buttons, which is a shame, because she does love revealing herself to him, but she’ll work with what she has. She lifts her arms and runs her hands through her hair, letting her cardigan shift and tease around her breasts. She didn’t bother with a bra when they finished at the rink, and she loves the way he can’t decide if he should watch the hints of her breasts or the fall of her hair as she lets it fall around her shoulders.

She takes a step towards him as she pops the button on her jeans, another as she eases down the zipper of her pants. Stops just in front of him and takes her time working the jeans down her legs. Refuses to break eye contact with him as she steps out of them.

“T,” he breathes, when he realizes that she wasn’t wearing anything under her pants.

“Why put on something you know you won’t be wearing for long?” She tosses her hair and makes a show of removing her cardigan, teasing him a little, before letting it drop to the floor. There’s a power in the way he stares at her, it makes her bold. “Only one of us is naked.”

“Would you like to help me with that?” he asks, slowly, carefully.

Her answer takes the form of an extended hand, which she takes, but he surprises her by pulling her into his lap. Even more surprising, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, pressing light kisses to her head. Hugging her as if someone might come and take her away at any moment.

“Are you alright?” She breaks the rules by asking. They never talk about why they’re doing it, while they’re doing it.

“Better now.” He sounds close to tears. She doesn’t want to look and find out the answer, just snuggles in closer. They stay that way for awhile, his hands stroking her back, almost absently, her head tucked under his chin.

Before long, the absent touches along her spine turn deliberate, the kisses take on a purpose. She shifts in his arms and finds his lips with hers. She can’t give him the other parts of her, but she can give him this. The kiss sparks something in him, and his hands turn from gentle to relentless, as he starts to explore more than just her back, shifting her in his lap so he can reach more places.

His lips follow his hands, down her throat, across her collar bone, down to the tops of her breasts. Unlike most men, he doesn’t immediately go for her nipples, instead lavishing attention to the space above, the place that’s almost more sensitive. He’s always known everything about her body. Even the first time. Even when it’s been so long, she thought it would never happen again. She shouldn’t be surprised, he’s spent most of his life touching her, but the fact that he catalogued the information floors her.

She shifts in his lap as he trails his tongue lower, and finally takes a nipple in his mouth. It’s so much better when he takes his time, makes her wait. He’s hard against her.

“You’re still wearing all your clothes,” she manages to string words together despite how distracting his tongue is.

He stands up, keeping her in his arms, his mouth taking a break from its important work. Her legs automatically wind around his waist, but he can hold her without effort. He swings her from side to side, kisses her through a smile, before he slides her down.

He starts to unbutton his shirt, but she swats his hands away. He acquiesces with a shrug and a wink. His ability to wink, sends her, but she turns her attention to the buttons on his shirt instead of the fresh burst of wetness between her legs. She loves to unbutton his shirts, reveal him a piece at a time. He wasn’t wearing this shirt when he came to practice, and its appearance is the same kind of mystery as cash for the hotel room.

She doesn’t dwell, instead focusing on the buttons, working them slowly, letting herself explore the skin she reveals, the same way he did earlier. She touches his chest all the time, it’s her job, but there's something so different about feeling him without the barrier of clothes. The softness of his skin contrasting with the hard muscle underneath. The solid warmth of his arms as she reveals them and lets his shirt fall to the floor. Those arms that hold her, and keep her safe, that she trusts without question. She wants to taste all of him. To drive him to distraction with her mouth on his nipples. She kneels and allows herself the indulgence of running her her tongue along his abs, to count them with her mouth and teeth, before turning her attention to his pants.

Any interest in taking her time, is gone, and she pops the button on his jeans and lowers the zipper without ceremony. Removes his pants and boxers in one move, and smiles when he’s naked in front of her hard and ready. She takes a moment to enjoy him, the heady scent of him, this part of him that she often feels but never sees.

“You don’t have to,” he says when she looks up at him from her spot on the floor, her mouth just millimetres from his cock, her intentions clear.

“But I so very much want to.” He’s only let her once before, always wanting to take care of her, be there for her. She wants to be there for him, and selfishly she wants to give him the pleasure, to take pleasure for herself in pleasing him.

She darts out her tongue for a taste, and he groans and shoves his hips forward. Question answered.

She tongues his tip for a moment, tastes the promise of what’s to come. She loves his cock, to her it’s perfection, thick but not too long, the standard she holds all other men to. His whole body is the standard, and possibly why she always runs in the opposite direction when choosing a partner. She engulfs him in one quick move, every bit she can take. The groan he unleashes in return makes up for the temporary discomfort of having him hit the back of her throat.

The sounds he makes, the groans and sighs, as she works him, give her almost as much gratification as his touch. That she can do that to him, for him. She’ll replace all his pain with pleasure if he’ll let her.

His hands wind into her hair and he massages her scalp, until she snakes a hand up his thigh and finds his balls. As she takes him in hand, he yanks her hair and both of them gasp.

“Tess,” her name leaves his lips like a prayer and her cunt floods. She doubles her efforts. “Please, god.”

She’s not sure what he’s asking for, but she has every intention of giving it to him.

He hauls her to her feet so suddenly, that it takes her a moment to realize that she’s no longer on her knees. But he’s kissing her hard, and she’s breathless, so she doesn’t care. His hands are everywhere on her body, stroking and pinching, as he pushes her towards the bed. He lays her down as her knees hit the bed. Kisses her lips, her throat, that place in between her breasts, tongues at that spot just above her right hip until she’s a writhing mess.

He drags his tongue across her stomach pausing for just as moment to tug at her piercing, before working his way down.

“You have the most perfect pussy,” he praises, offering another devastating wink. Does he compare everyone to her and find them wanting, the way she does? As soon as the thought enters her mind, it’s gone, because he sets to work and she can’t think anymore.

He tortures her mound, holds her hands immobile at her side, parts her with his delicate tongue and worships her clit. She makes all the noise she’s never given herself permission to make. The louder she is. The harder he works.

“Scott, I need…please… now.” Incoherent ramblings are the best she can do.

“Yes,” he agrees, moves up her body so they’re flush against each other. “Yes.”

“How?” she starts.

“Just like this,” he finishes. Like this where they can feel every inch of the other, where their hearts beat in sync, where they can look the other in the eye and never turn away.

He slides into her in one slow push. Waits for a minute, for her to adjust, to take a moment to feel and file it into memory, to savour. They go slow. They don’t know when this will happen again, although they both know that it will. He caresses his face as he thrusts, whispers in her ear. She can’t quite understand the words, or maybe can’t let herself understand.

They move together in a seamless way, knowing the push and pull without asking or doubt. They pick up speed together, he’s heaven inside her, filling her up, finding all the right places. She can feel herself clenching around him, her orgasm starting to build as his groans take on the heavy quality she knows.

“I’m…”

“Me too.”

He snaps his hips in earnest, and she takes him, coiling closer and closer until she’s over the edge and falling. Clinging to him, refusing to close her eyes, wanting to see him fall too. He’s right there with her as her legs shake from the power of her orgasm and then he’s there with her. Coming with a long, loud sigh in her ear.

They don’t move for a long time. Long after he’s soft inside her. After the sweat has cooled and she’s sore from staying in one place. But she doesn’t want to let him go, for it to be over.

When he finally does roll off her, he makes sure that some part of him is touching her, until he can spoon her from behind.

“Do you think we’re always going to need each other? This?” she asks as she settles into his arms. They’ll sleep for a bit before they return to reality.

“God, I hope so.”

His answer fills her with a peace that nothing else can.


End file.
